


Dépaysement

by HuiLian



Series: Untranslatable [7]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Damian is a middle eastern boi, Food, Gen, a bit of, but not much i promise, he won't last long on a british cuisine diet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 02:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19164349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuiLian/pseuds/HuiLian
Summary: Dépaysement (French): the feeling that comes from not being in one’s home country.orDamian missed the taste of home.





	Dépaysement

**Author's Note:**

> Before the fic, I am not Arab. Nor am I Romani. I am Southeast Asian, and the cuisine is pretty similar in terms of spices. And man I cannot stand eating British food. All day. Every day.  
> I did do research on Arab and Romani cuisine, I am not a heathen, but if I got something wrong, then yell it to me in the comments!

The first time Damian ate a food that Pennyworth prepared, he almost spit it back out. There was no taste. No taste at all except perhaps a hint of salt. Only the figure of his father at the end of the table eating calmly stilled Damian’s tongue. So, really, him saying that Pennyworth’s cooking had been less than exquisite was an understatement. Where were the spices, the herbs, the various condiments and aromatics?

The rest of the family acted like Pennyworth’s cooking was the height of creation, but Damian cannot seem to see what made his cooking so good in their eyes.

Was it the lack of any taste at all? Was it the way the meat and vegetables were barely cooked? Was it the various utensils and equipment that the butler uses? Or was it the way that every dish is brought out in a single person serving, and everybody eats in their own plates?

(Damian was getting out of topic. He cannot bring himself to care.)

Damian was not uncultured. He knows that most European countries does not use the amount of spices that Middle Eastern people do. He had eaten those cuisines too, whenever he travelled the world with Mother. However, he was unprepared for the sheer _lack_ of any spices that the British people, such as Pennyworth, use.

Eating one meal like that in a week is one thing, but eating that _bland_ food for every meal is another thing. Sometimes, Damian contemplated returning to the League, to Mother, just so that he can eat food that has _taste_.

Damian knew that he needs to eat to be able to go out as Robin. Without the food to burn as energy, he simply cannot keep up with the demands of being Robin. But the food here is just so _unappealing_ , that he couldn’t bring himself to eat what was in front of him.

He missed the various stews that Mother would bring to his rooms whenever she thought he needed extra nourishment. He missed the way rice soaks up all the sauces from all the dishes that were cooked that day. Pennyworth attempted rice the other day, and somehow, the way the rice tasted was so different that Damian did not realize he was eating rice until he had eaten half his plate. (He did not eat another bite of that rice.) He missed the way various herbs leaves would combine and explode with taste in your mouth.

Damian missed the taste of home.

Grayson noticed, of course. Grayson always noticed. Damian thought of hiding this, hiding this weakness the way he did so many others, but he really cannot take it anymore. He was eating less and less every day, and it showed in his performance as Robin. He could not jeopardize Robin, but he also could not bring himself to eat the bland food that seemed to be all there is in this strange new country.

(He was wishing that Grayson may have a solution, like he had a solution to so many other problems in Damian’s life. He knew better than to get his hopes up.)

“Here,” Grayson said, putting a bowl full of… of something in front of Damian.

It smelled of spices. It smelled of herbs. Damian did not even think of what was in that bowl before he was scooping the stew out and eating it.

It was heaven. After weeks and weeks of food that has no taste, the taste of spices in his mouth was exceedingly welcomed, even when Damian did not know what this stew is. Damian had finished the whole bowl before he even recognized what the taste in his mouth was.

Tomatoes, with peppers and paprika. Added with a generous amount of onion and garlic.

“I thought you’d like it,” Grayson’s voice sounded next to him. Damian had forgotten that Grayson was there.

“It is adequate.”

“You said that to all of Alfred’s cooking, but I’ve never seen you eat as fast as you did just now, Damian. Can’t stand the Britishness of Alfred’s cooking?” Grayson teased, raising his eyebrows. Damian almost snapped at him, but he saw the smile on Grayson’s face just at the last second.

Damian weighed the pros and cons of telling Grayson. He decided that the pros (getting more food that has _taste_ ) far outweighs the cons (being punished). “Great Britain conquered the world for spices. Why did they not _use_ it in their cooking?”

Grayson chuckled. “You know, I felt that way too when I first stayed here. All the food is bland, a far cry from the food at the circus. I started sneaking peppers into Alfred’s cooking, you have no idea. Then Alfred figured out a recipe for this _goulash_ , and we tweaked it until it started to resemble enough of my mom’s cooking. He started making food that actually has taste, instead of just seasoning it with salt.” Grayson’s smile fell. “He probably went back to cooking bland food because of…”

Because of Father’s death. That was the thing Grayson cannot bear to say. Father was all but raised by Pennyworth, wasn’t he?

Damian did not want to say anything‒it was not his place to do so‒but his stomach apparently had different opinions. After weeks of not eating sufficiently, now that he had good food in front of him, his stomach decided it want more. Loudly.

Damian felt his cheeks burning with shame. He will not flinch, he told himself. He will not.

Grayson just laughed. “Come on, Damian. There’s a whole pot of that in the kitchen. It’s plenty to share. And we’ll just go out to eat tonight. I heard there’s an amazing Turkish restaurant not far from here.”

Damian was tempted to follow Grayson, but something felt wrong. “Where’s Pennyworth?” Damian cannot imagine Pennyworth leaving the kitchen into the admittedly capable hands of Grayson.

“I gave him a few days off. He hasn’t had time to himself in a while.” Translation, Pennyworth had not had the time to grief. Damian wanted to scorn the man, but he found he cannot. The mand had raised Father, after all. He was entitled to a few days of grieving. And if Damian wanted the time to grieve too, well, that was his own business, wasn’t it?

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Maybe when he comes back, we’ll invade his kitchen with an armory of spices. Ask him to make something other than mashed potatoes. You in?”

“Tt.” Damian is in. He is _definitely_ in. The prospect of no more mashed potatoes is enough to entice him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> check out my tumblr (huilian.tumblr.com)


End file.
